The Truth
by Chronicler Alpha
Summary: In an old tavern at the edge of the world, Squall shares drinks and tales with a special friend.


No one knew his name. It was the reason he quietly chose to walk through the door and sit at the counter. He didn't need to worry about a mob swarming around him. There was no risk of lecture, plea, or demand. In that dimly lit place with its hardwood floors that creaked and abstract paintings that mystified, he felt safe amongst the curio and weary travelers. The aroma of freshly baked apple pie danced under his nose. He slid onto a stool and signaled the bartender. Within moments, he held a forkful of pie in one hand as he stirred his mug of tea with the other.

And just like that, Squall Leonhart finally could allow himself to be at ease. He ate and drank in peace, savoring every bite of crispy crust and every swig of the minty brew. Until the woman two stools over chuckled. Squall's eyes darted to her, his defenses re-emerging as he did so. His shoulders stiffened as he put down both mug and fork.

"Come now, don't tell me that spoiled the mood," she said with a sly smile. "The way you chomped down on that pie, one would think you've never tasted the pleasures of the world. I'm sure they could hear your lips smacking all the way across the sea."

Squall's eyes flickered, sadness eclipsing their hostility for a small second. But it was long enough for the woman to notice. Her smirk faltered. She took a swig of her drink and clacked the mug down hard on the counter, as if the noise would break the tension.

"You're too young to make a face like that," she said, signaling for a refill.

Squall said nothing. His unblinking eyes bore holes into the woman as his mind raced to decide whether to fight or flee.

"If looks could kill," she hummed while cradling her fresh mug, "a glance in a mirror would be out of the question for you. Lighten up. Eat, drink, and be merry."

Something inside of Squall snapped. He clenched his fists. "Be merry...?" he echoed in a low, yet irate growl.

"You need to find happiness where you can and claim it," said the woman, piqued yet unperturbed by the tone of his voice.

"And what if you can't? What if it's so out of reach there's no way to get at it?"

The woman laughed. "Well that's easy. You steal it."

Squall scoffed. Disgust contorted his mouth and he made to climb off the stool. But she stopped him with a gold coin that slid across the counter and clinked against his pie plate. He never saw gold currency before—or physical money at all. His paychecks were usually cashed at the bank and deposited into an account accessible only by debit card. Was this what the rest of the world traded in?

"How much happiness do you think that could buy?" asked the enigmatic woman. "It's a solid gold doubloon—one of only three hundred ever minted five centuries ago. Its face value is equivalent to about 1000 of your gil, but its current value is easily several hundreds times that."

"So what, you stole this?" Squall said as he eyed the coin. He didn't dare touch it. A dark, foreboding aura emanated from it. Although a goddess was printed on its face, he could sense that something diabolical resided on the other side.

The woman gave a proud, yet sly smile. "No, silly. I took it as payment for delivering some cargo." She took another swig, still smiling. "And then stole back the cargo."

"And that's happiness?"

"Happiness is in the eye of the beholder."

"And what do you behold?"

"Let me put it to you this way: I hate conforming to rules. They're nasty little things, aren't they? Always telling you what you can and can't do, even if it means defying your every sense of reason."

"We have rules for a reason," Squall droned on instinct, tapping into his SeeD training. "Without rules, the world would fall into chaos and disarray."

"And who makes those rules? You? The president? The pope?" She scoffed extra loud at that last one.

"The laws are carefully drafted and approved by a well-versed team of educated individuals. The authority in question—whether it be the sovereign of a state or the head of an institution—would likely have final say and veto power over those rules. That's what they're put into power to do, after all: to make and execute the laws for the betterment of mankind."

"And now I understand why you like pie so much," said the woman, swirling the tea in her mug. "It's all pie in the sky with you. Quite the idealist."

"What are you getting at?"

"Do you honestly think these sovereigns and popes follow the laws meant for the rest of us? Haven't you ever been on the other side of the moral fence? Or do you really think there's just one set of rules and it applies to us all?"

Squall thought for a moment. He remembered NORG and the corruption at Balamb, and the wars fought with Galbadia. Why was war fought at all? Violation of laws? Just punishment? Avarice and bloodlust? Just what were the rules of war, anyway? So many dead, so much destroyed...and for what? The SeeDs didn't participate out of some noble cause, either. No, they were paid to do it. Someone with a fat wallet had to hire SeeD's elite forces. As mercenaries, SeeD didn't even have a stake in the game. Why get involved at all? For justice? But is justice only something awarded to the highest bidder? And what about the so-called "resistance" like the Timber Owls? Were they just? They were breaking the rules, trampling over the laws. They planned to kidnap a president and for what? They said it was for the "good of Timber" but was it really? Did Rinoa even care about Timber?

No. She didn't.

Squall knew she didn't. The only reason Rinoa threw her lot in with the Timber "resistance" was to get back at her father, General Caraway—a decorated Galbadia military veteran who participated in the occupation of Timber. In the end, it was just a teenager tantrum. It was rebellion against her father's authority that led Rinoa to Timber. Her concept of law and order ended in failure and caused more trouble for everyone involved.

Chaos was everywhere. Squall knew it to be true. Some laws protected while others killed. The rules of justice didn't apply equally to everyone, and even someone with perceived noble intentions could really be acting out of selfishness. The law, the rules—they weren't neutral. Someone always stood to gain...

"What you say has some merit," Squall said after a while. He went to take a sip of tea and sighed. It had gone cold.

"I was right about you," said the woman, signaling the bartender. "You're one of the good ones."

Squall went to voice his confusion but the bartender distracted him with a hot kettle. The tea was topped off and minty steam wafted through the air.

"Thanks," Squall mumbled, not really sure to whom he was offering gratitude. "So why did you steal the cargo? To resell and gimp the system?"

The woman fell quiet for a bit, giving herself a small, sad smile that reflected back at her from the tea she swirled in her hand. "Let me ask you something first," she said with a small pause. "Do you know...why birds fly?"

Squall furrowed his brows and took a sip from the hot brew. Birds? Why is she asking such a random thing like that? Did she mean from an evolutionary standpoint? A biological one? A practical one?

"Why ask a thing like that?" he finally ventured to say. "What bearing does it have on our discussion?"

"Nothing," she said. Then she took a sip of tea. "And everything."

"That's a logical fallacy."

"Hardly. It's all about perspective, wouldn't you agree?"

"You could easily say that about anything."

"Ha, you certainly could."

"And what do you have to say about this—birds and cargo? Flight and laws?"

"If you made a rule tomorrow that said only some birds weren't allowed to fly, what would you think?"

Squall rubbed his chin. "That doesn't make any sense. Who would make a rule like that and for what reason?"

"Maybe those birds are too ugly to be deemed worth the ability of flight."

"That's ridiculous."

"And yet, it's a fact of life," said the woman, her face darkening. "What's ridiculous is tearing a group of people from their homes and families, stuffing them into a rat-infested cargo hold, and shipping them halfway across the world on a journey where half will die all so that the other half will be forced to do backbreaking labor until they themselves expire."

Squall's eyes narrowed. "So then your cargo...?"

"Do you know what their crimes were?" said the woman, cutting him off. She didn't let him answer or even think about it. "They didn't 'look right'—too ugly, too different, too wrong. They were denied liberties most take for granted—simple liberties like the ability to walk around without chains or to drink clean water, breathe clean air, eat clean food. So yeah, if they passed a law restricting the flight of 'ugly' birds, you can be sure someone would think it'd make sense. Hell, a lot of people would."

The two sat in silence for a bit. The fiddler playing a jig in the corner also took a break, plunging the tavern into an odd silence broken only by the occasional clinking of a mug or the belching of the fat guy that ate just about everything on the menu—even the mystery stew.

A myriad of thoughts swirled around Squall's head and his eyes kept dancing around the haunting coin that still rested flat next to his plate. That coin was worth riches and blood. Someone traded a fortune to imprison and transport some wayward souls, and for what? Were they worth the price? Did everyone walk around with a price over their heads? What was Squall worth?

No...he already knew what he was worth. Just like those people in the cargo hold, someone had paid a lot of money for Squall, too. For all the SeeDs. They were mercenaries, they were commodities. Did that make them slaves, too? In his heart, Squall knew the truth.

"Your happiness—the one that you stole," Squall said with a tentative pause. "I think I understand now—why I've never been happy."

"Oh?"

"You freed those people, didn't you?"

The woman smirked. "How is that stealing?"

"You stole their oppression, their chains, their confinement."

"You really are one of the good ones."

"Am I?" Squall poked at the half eaten pie for a bit. He had long lost his appetite and the once flake crust started to feel stale. "You keep saying that, but I don't think I'm a 'good one.' I haven't done anything I could ever consider 'good.'"

"Not everyone can see the things you do, never mind understand them."

"And that's enough to make me 'good'?"

"It is in my books."

"If you say so..."

"So come on. Share this new epiphany of yours."

Squall poked at the stale pie some more then sighed. "The confines. I've always known they were there, but I gave up fighting against them. At some point, I just tricked myself into thinking they didn't exist. I became a husk, a zombie—a plaything for everyone around me. The SeeDs used me as their killing tool, my so-called 'friends' used me for their amusement, and even my own family used me for political purposes—either as a shield or hero or whatever. I've never been anything significant to anyone. They always try to change me, always try to get into my head—my last safe haven—and warp my personality to suit their needs. I never had a comfortable home. I was never allowed to choose my own fate. My education? My profession? My 'friends'? All picked out and forced on me by others. Even my so-called 'girlfriend'—someone I don't care for at all—was shoved down my throat."

"Girlfriend?"

Squall's face contorted with rage. "She and I have nothing in common. She's loud, annoying, whiny, reckless, egotistical, myopic, and all-around ditsy. She's been put into danger I don't know how many times. She fell into an obvious trap when trying to kidnap a VIP, monsters are always trying to kill her, she was possessed, launched into space, knocked unconscious multiple times, and at one point had to be carried—by me—across several miles of train tracks."

"Sounds like a cumbersome chore."

"I'm not finished."

"I'm not surprised there's more."

"She was eaten—yes, eaten—by an androgynous sorceress and we had to fight a long, hard battle to rescue her by killing the sorceress without harming the hostage. A lot of good men died during that fight, but no one knows about their sacrifice, remembers them, or cares."

"You do."

"Yeah, and I'll carry memories of them until the end. But I'll be the only one to shoulder that burden—to mourn them, to keep their spirits alive in my heart. They deserve better than just some hack SeeD that couldn't stop bowing to public pressure and rescue the 'damsel' at the expense of the rest of the world."

"You're selling yourself short."

"I think it's due. I haven't been allowed to live. My life lacks definition. I'm not worthy of the praise you're giving."

The woman shook her head. "Your introspection says otherwise. You're defining yourself right now—as a man with a heart and conscience. That's more than most can offer the world."

"Maybe."

"How did this choking hazard become your girlfriend, anyway?"

Squall downed the rest of his tea and signaled for more. His stomach was twisting and churning. He needed another round of soothing mint. "I play it over again and again in my head. The pieces never line up properly. It doesn't make any logical, rational sense."

"Tell me what happened."

"I wasn't her first, you know? Seifer, one of my oldest acquaintances, was dating her first. And before him was some other guy. I met some nondescript schlep at the train station once. He sneaked up on me. There was nothing remarkable about the guy. I don't even know his name. All I know is he was her boyfriend before she moved on to Seifer and he made me swear to be good to her or whatever."

"My, my. A rat does get around, scurrying from harbor to harbor."

"And who knows how many came before that?"

"So how did you let yourself get entangled with that plague-ridden mess?"

"Not by choice. Never by choice." Squall sighed. "I hate parties. For a lot of reasons."

"I love them." The woman giggled. "It sounds to me like you never went with anyone fun."

"Someone fun? I don't know any 'fun' people. They're all aggravating in their own way. I prefer quiet. I was forced to go. The Garden Staff had a checklist of attendees, and when I didn't show up on time, they issued a school-wide alert. I was literally dragged into the ballroom by armed guards."

"It's only a party when they're tossing you out. Never heard of anyone being tossed in."

"Story of my life," said Squall, sipping from his new mug. "I'm always being dragged and tossed into all sorts of stupid situations. I tried keeping to myself at the party. Had to bribe a bartender to pour me some ginger ale. All they had was champagne. Do I look like a slum drunk?"

"You look like you have good taste."

"You're about the only one. Everyone at the ball was high in the clouds, bumbling around like morons. I snuck around a bit—moving from pillar to pillar while covertly maneuvering towards the door. I was going to make a run for it. That's when she cut me off."

"As rats usually do. Nibbled at your toes, did she?"

"Bit them clean off. I couldn't walk straight with all the attention she was drawing. My plans went up in flames. All eyes were on us because suddenly the moody guy that never speaks is talking to some strange freebooter."

"How'd she worm her way in? She doesn't sound like mercenary material."

"She seduced Seifer, who in turn broke about a dozen rules to smuggle her illegally onto the premises."

"Ah, so she was courting him to the ball? How bold to ditch her beau in the middle of a soiree."

"I didn't even know she was associated with Seifer. At the time, she made it sound like she was looking for a good time and thought I could help. Looking back on it now, I know she was just bored. Seifer was taking forever to arrange a meeting with the Headmaster and she probably wrote him off. I guess she didn't want to leave the party empty handed."

"You're a handsome man. She was looking for a conquest."

"Me? Conquest? Am I that much of an object? A tool for war, a conquest for some sex-crazed maniac that lacks hand-eye coordination?"

"That was a very specific comment. Did she join and flunk out of your basketball team or something?"

"Don't get me started. There's the pit, the airship, and the train just for starters. She couldn't stand upright if you paid her a fortune. Not to mention her crappy paint work."

"Oh dear, little miss sunshine has tried her hand at arts and crafts?

Squall scoffed. "I hardly call it trying. She made some models for her 'master plan' to kidnap the president. They, like the plan, were flimsy, poorly conceived, and shoddily engineered." He sighed. "I was forced to climb along a speeding train just because she wanted five seconds of fame talking with the president..."

"To do what, get his autograph?"

"Convince him to 'free' Timber."

"How cute. Did she plan to challenge him at rock-paper-scissors or just stick to the classics and beg like a cheap harlot?"

"Hell if I know. I wasn't paid to ask questions or care. You can see from the end result that Timber wasn't liberated from Galbadian control. The operation ended in disaster. We were all branded as terrorists and had to live on the run for a while. At some point, I was corralled into an assassination plot. I guess the brass figured that we were expendable by that point. Rinoa caused trouble again, this time getting my whole team trapped in the sewers. Once they were out, I thought we were in the clear. But no, she sabotaged the plan even further by approaching the target objective and getting kicked into a pit. I had to jump in and rescue her—not because I wanted to, but because everyone was ordering me to do it. No one even helped. They just stood around while I did all the work and nearly got killed by some giant lizards."

"At least we know you can fend off dragons," the woman joked. Squall didn't laugh. "What happened after that?"

There was a long pause. "I...honestly don't know. I blacked out. They tell me I was impaled by a giant icicle, but I don't have any recollection of it. The next memories I have are of being imprisoned under terrorist and assassination allegations. I was tortured—by Rinoa's former boyfriend no less. He wanted to grill me over SeeD secrets, but he let it slip a few times that he was mad I 'stole' his girlfriend. I told him repeatedly that he could have her, but he didn't believe me. He was too pigheaded to realize I was being sincere."

"I know a thing or two about prisons. It's almost impossible to escape without help."

"Honestly, I wish they had left me there. Rinoa's the one who 'helped' us escape. It came with a price."

"It always does..."

"It was too steep." Squall let his words hang in the air for a while. His eyes shifted back to the ominous coin sitting flat next to his plate. Anyone could've pinched it while the two were lost in conversation, but no one dared come near it. It was as if everyone that laid sight on it was stricken by an irrational fear of it.

"That coin," the woman said, sliding off of her stool, "has a particular story behind it." With mug in hand she sauntered over to the vacant spot next to Squall and slipped into place. Normally, Squall hated sitting next to people. But he didn't mind her presence. She perplexed him, but in a good way. A good aura emanated from her. He felt comfortable and allowed his defenses to melt. Was this what it felt like to have a friend?

"What story?"

"It's nonsense, really. They say that if you flip it, it will always come up tails—signaling the misfortune it brings."

"This coin is bad luck?"

"Do you believe in curses?"

Squall thought for a moment. "It's easy for me to believe in curses. My whole life seems like it's been dogged by them. Orphaned as a baby, sold to a mercenary school, denied familial and fraternal kinship, chained to Rinoa—it all seems like a big curse." He paused, his hand hovering over the coin. "But in the end," he said, fingers ghosting across the coin's surface, "I walked away from it. It's over now." He picked up the coin and tossed it. "There is no curse."

The coin spun and glistened through the air and landed in Squall's clutch. His fingers retreated and revealed the face of the goddess lying flat in his palm, her wise and wistful eyes staring up at him.

The woman chuckled. "See? You just keep layering on the proof. You're the real-deal. A bonafide good guy."

"Whatever." He offered the coin back to her, but she shook her head.

"Keep it as a memento of the truth."

"Don't you need one?"

"I have others. Like my lucky hat, which has incidentally given away its feather. That's why I don't wear it as often."

"How does a hat give away a feather?"

"I suppose it was his idea of a game. You see, I'm looking for the one who's taken the feather."

"Another thief?"

The woman let out a hearty laugh. "In a way. He's stolen something precious from me, yes. But not a feather—and definitely not one of this particular plumage. It's not at all as large as he's accustomed, but it's good enough for the time being."

Squall sipped his lukewarm tea. "You've lost me."

"The seas of the heart are almost impossible to navigate without a map."

"I can't argue with you there."

"So how did you find this hole-in-the-wall dive, anyway? It's not every day someone stumbles into this place."

Squall sat in silence for a bit, gazing at the small ripples ebbing across his mug. "I left one night—telling no one and taking nothing. I didn't want anything from that part of my life. It was another party, everyone was so happy because they thought we 'won' some war. But I knew better. It's nowhere near over. And just like always, they all fell on me. All eyes on me—and Rinoa. Shoving us together as the 'cute, perfect' couple. I felt like a trained monkey performing a show in a cage. I went through with it. I didn't want to arouse suspicion. I let them all believe what they wanted to—bask in the lie for the last time. Then, when all attention shifted elsewhere, I made a break for it. I ran. Fast and far. I didn't stop to sleep or sit or eat. I always felt like someone would sneak up behind me and drag me back there. I didn't feel safe. I went off of pure adrenaline for several days until I just collapsed. I was in a forest somewhere—I couldn't tell you where. That's when she found me. A woman cloaked in black and white robes. She brought me to her cabin, gave me some food, and let me rest. I fell asleep after that—a proper sleep. I felt safe there. When I next awoke, it was three days later and no one was in the cabin. She was gone, leaving behind nothing—and I mean nothing; no food, clothes, firewood, china, cutlery. Nothing. Except a perfumed letter."

Amusement flickered across the woman's eyes. She was practically salivating with intrigue.

"So mysterious. What did the letter say?"

Squall exhaled and hunched in his seat. "It said something that barely makes any sense."

"And that is...?"

" _Once you remember who I am, you'll know where to find me_."

"How romantic!" the woman exclaimed, making Squall jump.

"Would you keep your voice down?" he shushed.

The woman giggled and placed an order for two slices of pie. She could see the cook pulling out a new pie fresh from the oven and figured the sweetness would nicely accentuate the latest tale. The bartender soon replaced the half-eaten apple pie with a piping hot slice of gooseberry supreme.

"You think bribing me with food will squeeze more out of me?" said Squall, eying the dessert.

"Is it working?" the woman said with a cunning smile.

Squall sighed and took up his fork. He took a small bite and was in heaven. All those years of soggy hotdogs and pre-packaged pudding cups baked inside a doughy crust, he had been missing out on real food. He started chomping down on the pie, smacking his lips with every bite. His new friend tried hard not to giggle in effort to avoid making him self-conscious again. But she didn't need to say anything for Squall to resume the conversation. He felt comfortable enough to eat and have a chat at the same time—something he never deemed possible in the past. Dining and chatting—such a casual event that average people always took for granted. Squall never had anyone to chat with and eating with others always interrupted his digestion. He always wondered how "friends" could stand "doing lunch" together or whatever else. It never made any sense to him until this moment.

"I have a problem with amnesia," Squall eventually said after wolfing down more than half the pie. "Part of it has to do with forced tampering of my memories. When I was a cadet training to become a SeeD, they forced students like myself to utilize the powers of these great, guardian beasts. But as with any pact, there are conditions on both sides. In exchange for lending us their awesome power, the beasts required a sacrifice from us."

"Your memories."

Squall nodded. "It was never obvious. No one ever realized what was happening, and no one was ever warned. Without my knowledge, whole periods of my life vanished. I couldn't remember where I grew up, where I was raised, or even why I was on track to becoming a SeeD in the first place. When you stop to think about it, the SeeD executives preferred this pact. If students never ventured to remember or question why they were being trained as killing machines, they'd be programmed to accept their fate as mercenaries without question. I know I never did."

"You never thought it strange that your school was teaching you the skillset for perpetual warfare?"

"No."

"Losing your memories like that—it sounds rather selective."

"It was. I never forgot my name or how to fight, but I forgot the essence of my identity. My origin, my values, my beliefs. I was robbed of my soul."

"A true prisoner of war."

"A slave to it. Born and bred to fight and die for nothing. It was a self-perpetuating system that led to the destruction of untold scores of innocents. The world was awash with war orphans, and those orphans were trained to become mercenaries that created more orphans."

"And all so some fat noble or pope can claim land for a new private garden or a new library filled with books he'll never read. Either way, the stench of repression would pollute the whole country."

"Maybe. The reason never matters. We were never given one at the academy. They gave us orders, usually to kill our benefactor's enemy, and that's it. A gun doesn't need an explanation to fire after the trigger's been pulled."

"A life devoid of choice isn't really a life at all."

"No, it isn't. That's why I ran..."

"So you think this woman is someone from your past—someone you can't remember?"

"So the letter would have me believe." Squall finished his pie, savoring the last bite of crunchy, gooey goodness. Gooseberry pie was officially his new favorite dessert.

"How tragic. Someone important to you and you can't even remember her. So you came all the way out here on a quest to find her?"

"Yeah."

"Looks like you and I are in a similar situation," she said with a sad smile. "Even if you can't remember much about her, your heart must remember how you feel. There's no other way you could've found this place—this tavern that exists between realms."

"I can't deny that," Squall said with a pensive scrunch of his brows. "I had to strike a deal with a powerful trans-dimensional traveler named Gilgamesh in order to make it this far. I agreed to give him my prized sword in exchange for passage through time-space. I came to this place for a rest. I've been searching for a long time. Every so often I'll get a lead on her whereabouts, but I haven't met anyone that's seen her recently."

"I haven't seen her, either. Deeply sorry."

Squall shook his head. "Think nothing of it. This is my mission. It's something I have to do myself."

"I know a thing or two about chasing after a disappearing act, let me tell you. I'll knock down a door expecting find him only to see an open window in the back. I've tried checking under rocks, inside refrigerators, behind paintings—but nothing. Always just a faint trace."

"Who can fit behind a painting...?"

The woman gave a wry smile. "You'd be surprised what he can squeeze into."

"Does it ever get any easier—the search?"

"Easier? No. But it's not about the search; it's about the reward at the end. Nothing is more satisfying than the thrill of success."

"Well, at least there's something to look forward to..."

"There is. Just never give up and don't forget to check behind bookshelves."

"Somehow I doubt she'd be hiding behind a bookshelf."

"You'll never know until you look!"

"You sound like you're speaking from experience. Bookshelves, refrigerators, rocks—really? Your thief sounds weird."

The woman let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, he is. But he's that special kind of weird that makes him extra lovable."

"If you say so..."

"But never mind that. Is there a way for you to recover your memories?"

"They've been coming back...slowly. I remember some things from my past, but not enough. I can't remember that woman at all. I can't even account for her."

"A childhood friend, perhaps?"

"Maybe. I don't know. She's not my mother or my sister... I know that much. The life I've lived up until my departure feels like a nightmare that I'm only just waking up from."

"It sounds like you're on the right road to finding her."

"I hope so. It feels like when we do meet again, I'll be able to recover a long-hidden part of myself."

The woman finished her final mug of tea and paid off her tab. "Well, my ship will be setting sail soon. I wish you safe travels, friend."

For the first time in a long time, Squall smiled. A warmth flowed from his heart and blanketed the whole of his body. "Same to you...friend."

With a jubilant laugh, the woman gave an elaborate bow. "I would tip my hat to you, sir, but you know. Farewell." Without looking back, the woman made her way across the creaky floorboards. The door opened, letting out most of the coziness that made the tavern so inviting.

With the change in atmosphere, Squall saw no reason to prolong his stay. Gilgamesh was waiting, after all. He paid off his own tab with some coins given to him by his inter-dimensional companion. The gold, allegedly cursed coin found its way back into his palm. He marveled at it for a bit, giving in a gentle smile. It really was a memento of truth.

Outside, the brisk, sea air ruffled through Squall's hair. In the distance, he could hear the bell tolling. Perhaps it was his friend's ship readying to weigh anchor. Some seagulls cawed overhead as the grey clouds swirled through the sky giving way to the sun. Squall looked around the busy port, but found no signs of his red hooded companion. He paced around a bit, but felt awkward and out of place without a purpose. It felt like the whole world was staring at him wondering what he was up to, even if everyone else was too busy minding their own business to notice him. At some point, he managed to stroll over to a shipping crate and fancied it a chair. He sat there on the crate, idling flipping his new coin while watching the ships sailing in the distance. One was just touching the horizon, glowing gold in the light of the sunset. The ethereal sight gave Squall a sudden headache. An image flashed in his mind. He clutched the coin in his hand, squeezing it tightly. The taste of pie lingered in his mouth, heightening his senses.

He heard a woman's voice echoing in his ears. She spoke to him in a language he didn't know but could somehow recognize. A pain shot up his arm and he opened his palm to stare at the goddess.

Then it hit him. He remembered everything. He remembered the truth.

Squall rose to his feet and started walking. A luminescent moon replaced the sun, bathing the port with an eerie light. It guided Squall on his path, which led him to a dead end in an alleyway not far from the tavern. He waited in front of a brick wall for what seemed like an hour. Then a swirling vortex of black and orange ripped into the wall. A woman draped in white and black robes appeared and tears welled in Squall's eyes.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," he said.

The blond haired goddess extended her hand in silence.

With newfound peace and certainty, Squall took her hand and disappeared into the portal.


End file.
